The Busy and the Tired
by vintagetypewriter
Summary: After telling a white lie to a beautiful girl, Babe Heffron does his homework and discovers why home isn't what it used to be, and how he can learn to live on anyway. Babe Heffron/OC. One-shot.


"There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired."

― F. Scott Fitzgerald, _The Great Gatsby_

* * *

In later years, Babe Heffron would tell people that he _walked right up_ to Liz the moment he saw her and struck up a conversation - that he'd been inexplicably drawn to her. The second part was true enough, but he didn't actually work up the nerve to talk to her until the third time he saw her.

Because fate was kind, Liz was a lover of routine and the type to frequent the same place at the same time just about every day. This was partly why he had zeroed in on her. Something about the way she sat on the same bench, unwrapped the same sandwich, and opened up her book at the same time every day was a draw - a comfort, even - and he'd resolved on that first day that it was a good routine, and that he would continue to take his lunch break at the same park, at the same time.

On that third instance (henceforth to be recorded as "the first instance," remember), he _walked right up_ to her. She didn't look up from the book on her lap right away, and he stood for an uncomfortable moment, deciding if he still had time to turn back. Just when he began to move, determined to save face and try again later, she noticed his shoes in her peripheral vision and looked up.

"Oh, hello." Her voice was bright and soft, and exactly as he'd imagined it might be. Because she'd looked up just as he was moving away, there was an awkward moment where he couldn't decide whether to keep his momentum and keep walking or stop and lean into the discomfort. The little, reassuring smile she gave after greeting him made the decision for him, and he stayed, bouncing on his heels with a nervous energy instead.

"Hi," He began, shoving his free hand into his pocket to keep it from fidgeting, "I don't mean to bother you or anything, but..." He was already about 2 miles off the rails from what he'd planned to say. "I saw you reading, and I was just...wondering what you're reading."

"Oh, of course!" She said, putting her thumb down to keep her place and flipping the book closed so that he could see the cover. He tilted his head and leaned forward a bit to get a better look.

"Oh yeah, _The Great Gatsby_," He said, eyebrows rising in recognition as he pulled the hand from his pocket and pointed at it. "A good one."

He hadn't said he'd read it, _exactly, _but the implication was there, and her eyes lit up. She glanced down at the paper bag in his hand and straightened.

"Are you on lunch right now?" She asked, gesturing to the spot on the bench next to her. Babe didn't need to be given a verbal invitation as he sat down on the wooden bench, mindful to leave a proper amount of space so he didn't seem like a creep.

"Yeah, I am. I'm Babe Heffron," He said, holding out a hand. She shook it.

"Hi, Babe. Liz Barnes," She returned. The tiniest bit of color settled on her cheeks as she said his name, and Babe resisted the urge to chuckle when he noticed it.

"So, uh, you're on your lunch break, too?" He asked, unwrapping his sandwich to keep his hands busy.

"Yeah, I work over at a law firm in that building across the street," She explained, pointing. Babe followed her finger and nodded.

"Oh, I've been in that office park before," He said, taking a bite of his sandwich. He went to say something else, but then realized he shouldn't talk to her with his mouth full, so he held up a finger instead. Liz laughed - the sound was light and reminded him of bells. Babe swallowed. "What do you do there?"

"I'm a file clerk," she answered, taking a bite of her own sandwich. He watched her pick up her napkin and dab it against her lips when she was done taking the bite. It was something he'd noticed about her from afar, when he'd been too nervous to approach. She wiped her mouth after practically every bite. It was an interesting ritual and had made him wonder if she was uptight - he hadn't been expecting this warm of a reception and was practically shaking with excitement from it. "What about you?"

"I work over at Publicker's," he said, sucking some mayo off one of his fingers. "The whiskey distillery?"

"Right! Right." She replied, nodding vigorously. "How long have you been there?"

"Not long," Babe answered. He paused a moment, and then "I just got back from Europe about a month ago."

He didn't need to say more for her to understand, and she nodded again.

"Well, I'm glad you're here."

Not _that must have been so hard. _Not _tell me all about it. _Not _I'm so sorry you went through that. _Just a simple, bright _I'm glad you're here._

And Babe found that he wanted to be here. Right here, in this exact spot, forever.

* * *

So, naturally, he returned the next day. Liz, same as yesterday, greeted him with a kind smile and moved her bag to let him know that it was okay for him to sit. They ate in companionable silence for the first few minutes, mostly because Babe didn't want to stop her from reading, if that's what she wanted to do. Soon enough, though, she chose to abandon the book for conversation.

"So, what else do you like to do besides reading, Babe?" She asked, bookmarking her page. Babe dropped his sandwich away from his mouth and swallowed, thinking about it. When he was overseas, he had thought constantly about all the stuff he wanted to do when he got back to the states. Once he did get back, though, when all was said and done, he couldn't remember any of it. None of it seemed to matter so much anymore. It was like this: next to his house, there had always been this colorful, vibrant mural that he loved since childhood. Well, while he was gone, they'd painted over it and made it black. That was how he felt - blank. A dull shadow of what was once there. What _had _he enjoyed doing before the war? Whatever it was, he must not enjoy it that much anymore, to not even remember it.

"I like baseball," He answered, finally, "There's nothin' like watching the Phillies play."

Liz smiled warmly and opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off.

"What part are you at?" He asked. Confusion formed on Liz's brow, and he gestured to the book in her lap. "How far are you?"

"Oh," she said, picking it up. "Tom just found out about the affair."

"Oh, yeah," Babe replied, "That Tom's a real creep, huh? How about when he broke that girl's nose?"

Liz's eyebrows rose the slightest bit, but that was her only tell. She was surprised. Babe couldn't decide if he was proud of the reaction, or offended that she hadn't actually believed him. But then he remembered that he _had _lied, and let the pride win out. He'd literally run to Foster's Books after he got off work the night before to get a copy of _The Great Gatsby_ before they closed. He hadn't gotten nearly as far as he'd hoped to last night (it'd been a while since he'd read a book all the way through), and his coworkers had ribbed him relentlessly all day after they caught him sneaking it out during his downtime moments at the distillery today. He hadn't gotten as far as she was, but he felt confident he'd read enough to have a conversation.

"Yes, he's driving me crazy," She agreed, recovering quickly, "He's a horrible hypocrite, if you ask me."

"Gatsby's just as bad, really." Babe said, leaning back and spreading an arm across the back of the bench.

"Why do you say that?" She asked, her full attention on him now.

"The guy comes back from the war, and he thinks he's just gonna make a lot of money, marry the girl of his dreams, and never have problems again? Trust me, it ain't like that. You come back to the states and you realize -" He stopped and bit the inside of his cheek, reconsidering what he was about to share.

"Realize what?"

"It's not what it was. That's all. It's not what it was before you left."

They were quiet for a long moment, as Liz thought about what he said, watching him carefully. "Maybe it is what it was, and you're just able to see it better for what it is. I mean, that's what the book's about, right? Complicating the idea of The American Dream?"

Babe had no idea. He would need to finish it tonight - he glanced down at her bookmark and saw that she was almost finished with it. It would be a long night.

"He should've come back with an open mind, instead of expecting everything to be a certain way. Seen what life had to offer him, you know?" Babe said, thinking aloud.

"I agree," Liz replied.

"It is pretty great how hard he's trying with Daisy, though." He added, changing the subject. Liz raised an eyebrow.

"Is it?"

"Well, yeah. Throwing elaborate parties, trying to fit in with the elite and all that. He's gotta do what he's gotta do."

The corners of Liz's lips upturned a tiny bit.

"I don't think he's gotta do that."

* * *

When Babe showed up the next day, he hoped that the bags under his eyes wouldn't betray the fact that he'd just managed to finish _The Great Gatsby _the night before. He felt a swell of satisfaction when he approached the bench and saw that Liz was no longer carrying the book either - she'd finished it, too.

Just like the day before, he sat down next to her, and they ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. Just as he was finally sorting out what questions he wanted to ask her about the book, she broke the silence.

"So how did you like the ending?" She asked, a knowing smile pulling at her lips. Babe sat up a bit straighter, shifting uncomfortably. He'd been made. She didn't appear to be upset, but he watched her warily.

"It was sad," Was all he said.

"It was."

Silence fell on them again, and they went back to their lunches. After a few moments, Babe bit the bullet.

"So...you wanna go to a baseball game some time?"

Liz smiled. "I thought you'd never ask."


End file.
